‘Don’t be frightened, Emily,’ she said gently. ‘Women often faint, you know; it is nothing extraordinary; it might happen to you any day.’ ‘Yes, my lady,’ stammered Emily. ‘But you never have fainted—and—’ ‘You want me to ask a doctor about myself? So I will to-morrow. But to-night I must look my best.’ ‘What gown will you wear, my lady?’ asked Emily, beginning to regain her wits and composure. ‘Oh, the very grandest, of course,’ said Delicia, with a little laugh. ‘The one with the embroidered train, which you say looks as if it were sewn all over with diamonds.’ Emily’s bright face grew more radiant; the care of this special gown was her delight; her mistress had only worn it once, and then had looked such a picture of ethereal loveliness as might have made ‘Oberon, the fairy king,’ pause in his flight over flowers to wonder at her; and while the willing ‘Abigail’ busied herself in preparing the adornments of the evening, Delicia sipped her tea and reclined in her chair restfully, thinking all the while strange thoughts that had not occurred to her before. ‘If I were to die now,’ so ran her musings, ‘all the results of my life’s work would, by the present tenor of my will, go to my husband. He would care nothing for my fame or honour; his interests would centre round the money only. And with that money he would amuse himself with La Marina or any other new fancy of the hour; possibly my own jewels would be scattered as gifts among his favourites, and I doubt if even my poor, faithful Spartan would find a home for his old age! This must be seen to. I have made a mistake and it must be remedied. Fortunately the law, which is generally so unjust to women, has been forced into permitting our unhappy sex to have at least an individual right over our own money, whether earned or inherited; formerly we were not allowed to have any property apart from our lords and masters! Good heavens! What a heavy score we women shall run up against men at the Day of Judgment!’ The hours wore on, and by the time she was dressed for Lady Dexter’s ‘at home’ she was in one of her most brilliant, vivacious moods. Emily, the maid, stared at her in rapt fascination, as arrayed in the richly-embroidered dress of jewel-work, with its train of soft satin to match, springing from the shoulders and falling in pliant folds to the ground, she stood before her mirror fastening a star of diamonds among her luxuriant hair. Through the rare old lace that fringed the sleeves of her gown, her fair white arms shone like the arms of the marble Psyche; her eyes were dark and luminous, her lips red, her cheeks faintly flushed with excitement. A single branch of ‘Annunciation’ lilies garlanded her dress from waist to bosom, and as she regarded her own fair image she smiled sorrowfully, mentally apostrophising herself thus:—